The Past Never Dies
by Harry Hippie
Summary: When given the chance to fall in love again, will he take it, or will he continue to live in the past? HGRW, SSHG, SSLily. Chapter Eight up at last! Others soon to come!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One **

Severus Snape scowled deeply. It would have almost been better if the Wizengamot had sentenced him to the Dementor's Kiss. At least then he would have been blissfully unaware of all the horrendous things that were now put upon him.

A week in Azkaban had been enough for the man. It had temporarily aged him, leaving dark circles under his eyes. After that week, they brought him back to England for more trials.

That was when all this nonsense was decided.

During the trials over the death of Albus Dumbledore, he had been intensively examined, and he had never ceased to tell the truth about that night on the Astronomy Tower. He shivered at the memory of his time in the wizard prison, which further encouraged him to give them the whole story. They had all been dreadfully shocked at the conspiracy between himself and Dumbledore, which Harry Potter had defended, though grudgingly. Potter was still chafing at Dumbledore's death and unending trust in Snape.

The fact that Severus had lived after the snakebite had been a bit of a downer for the Boy- Who- Was- Arrogant, and it was now becoming a bit of a depressing memory for Snape himself. Actually, the story of his survival was one of pure luck. He had had the forethought to prepare an antidote to Nagini's venom, in case that she accidentally bit someone, or the Dark Lord decided he wanted to kill someone Snape did not want killed. Funnily enough, it turned out that Snape was that someone. After Potter had disappeared to sift through Severus's memories and Ron had run off to look after his diminished family, Granger actually had the bright idea to search his seemingly dead body, for what he had no idea; it was then that she found his little pouch of vials. Fortunately she had paid attention in his third year Potions class and recognised the colour and scent of snake venom antidote. He would have almost been proud, if it weren't for the unauthorised robe search.

Anyway, he lived, though the scars from that vile snake's teeth remained, and he had a bit of a limp from where his circulation had begun to cease and would not return to his left foot. It had all led up to this; he was sitting between two Aurors, listening to his sentence. And what an awful sentence to receive.

"Severus Tobias Snape, you are hereby sentenced to permanent house arrest, during which you will serve as Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Minerva McGonagall will serve as your warden, and you are subject to her jurisdiction. Your wand will be confiscated and disposed of to prevent future malignant behaviour. The case is hereafter closed." The banging of that gavel might have been the Killing Curse from the way Severus jerked.

He had never, _never_ expected this outcome. Maybe life in Azkaban, maybe even death, but not a permanent position as Potions master. Perhaps he should consider himself lucky, but in that moment, he did not feel lucky. A strict, overbearing woman was going to be holding him prisoner in the dungeons of a castle for the rest of his life.

After the trial his wand was broken. The distinct _snap _had shocked him. His guards then escorted him outside of the Ministry, and Apparated with him to Hogsmeade. The ride in the carriages led by those terrifying horses seemed longer than usual, possibly because it was spent lodged between two broad-shouldered, distinctly masculine men. He felt like half a man, mostly due to their wands, carefully gripped in large hands, (which would have been funny on any other day, to any other person) and their size, contrasting so sharply with his bony, stoop-shouldered frame. He considered this one of the lowest points in his life, though there had been many, many low points. After thinking about his past misfortunes and those yet to come for the entire ride, he arrived in a surly, sardonic mood (which was not unusual, just particularly potent).

"Severus," Minerva said as he stepped out of the carriage. "You will be returning to your old quarters as soon as the Aurors are finished with the defences. You will come to my office, meanwhile. We have a few things to discuss."

Snape followed silently. He took note that her behind had gotten wider, but said nothing, saving the titbit for a time when he was _really_ frustrated with her. As they walked, he swore he would not say a word unless it was directly required of him. That was the most he could hope to do to control his life at this point.

Minerva settled into the chair behind the Headmaster's desk as Snape took notice of the changes. The curtains were now tartan, which was not a huge surprise. There were fewer tiny instruments, more books. Dumbledore solemnly watched the happenings in the office from a gilded frame. Snape squirmed guiltily beneath his even, twinkling gaze.

"There are a few rules you will obey: some are mine, some the Ministry's. All are to be given obeisance. Do you understand?"

He rolled his eyes in response.

"I will not have you acting like an ill-humoured teenager, Severus! How old are you now? Thirty-seven? You will answer me with respect."

"Of course I understand," he answered. "Ma'am," he added upon seeing her disapproving look. He had promised himself this wasn't going to happen, hadn't he? He was following her orders like some kind of puppy.

"I have taken the liberty of writing these rules down. Here is your copy. I expect it to be on your person at all times. If I find that it is not, I will not hesitate to remedy the situation. You have been appointed your own guard at all times, both to protect you and keep you in line during classes. We don't want students throwing spells at you, no matter how much amusement this might provide." Snape gaped. "Now, you know we are short-handed, which was the sole reason for your punishment, but—"

The entrance of Harry Potter, the Golden Boy himself, blessedly interrupted her. He entered the room impertinently, as he did all else. "Professor, the Aurors are done."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. I will see that the spells are kept active."

_I bet you will_, Severus thought bitterly. Potter left the room and Minerva stood.

"Severus, we need your help, but not your cooperation. Whether or not you like it, you are here to stay, so I suggest you start liking it. After all, there is a library for your research, free food, comfortable and private housing. Considering the other alternatives, Hogwarts is a little piece of heaven." With that, she walked out, leading him along with an invisible tether.

A man followed them to the dungeons, one of the same who had escorted him to the school. He was broad-shouldered with sandy, feathery hair and glinting blue eyes. Severus convinced himself that the feeling of loathing was not from jealousy, but from the fact that he would be followed about by this cretin for the rest of his foreseeable life.

Upon reaching the dungeons, Snape discovered his quarters, decorated in their usual Spartan manner. Bookshelves, bed, small roll-top desk, filing cabinet, and a table placed in the nook of the room to serve as a dining area. It was late, so Minerva left him to go to her own rooms. The guard hunkered down on his dinette that had been converted to a cot. He peered at the room curiously.

Everything seemed to be the same, so he changed into his pyjamas and crawled into the modest bed. Tomorrow might be hell, but tonight he would sleep without the gloomy, rotten presence of Dementors.

- - - -

Severus woke with a jolt due to water being poured directly onto his face. The water stopped for a moment and he saw Minerva McGonagall standing imperiously over him.

"Professor, this is most unprofessional. Where is your list?" she demanded tersely. He wiped off some of the water running down his face in rivulets, then reached to his bedside table.

"What is it, exactly, that is unprofessional, madam: my sleeping or your waking me up?"

She glowered at him, then opened up the parchment, which he had folded. Holding out the list to his tired eyes, she stabbed at number four with one bony finger. He read it.

" 'You will retire at ten in the evening and rise by seven in the morning on all days excluding weekends and holidays,' " he quoted snidely.

"It is now nearly eight, Professor. Your first class is arriving in ten minutes. I suggest you get ready quickly." What she did not add, but he was certain she wished to, was, 'Have fun getting ready the Muggle way.' "

The shower would have simply been too much effort, so he washed his face, for whatever good it would do, and then changed into his characteristically dark robes. Unfortunately, his hair was wet from Minerva's dousing, but what could he do? He was completely without a wand. He left his quarters tentatively, surprised that he could simply walk out. This discovery required experimentation. This experimentation did not last long, however, as he found that if he strayed in the slightest from the path to the Potions classroom, he received a nasty shock and was scooted two feet in the right direction by some invisible force. It was a rather humiliating occurrence that he vowed would never happen again.

The students were lined up by the classroom door. He had the sudden urge to run as quickly as he could back to his rooms and hide for the rest of his life. But then he remembered that he most likely physically could not, and even if he could, Minerva would quickly make it so that he couldn't. In his mind he could conjure horrific scenes of awkward questions and cocky students with wands throwing spells at his helpless, wandless head.

The person who taught before him had been thrown out of his position for, quite simply, doing inappropriate things with inappropriate people in inappropriate places. Severus had even heard that he and a fifth year were caught in McGonagall's office, doing who knows (or wants to know) what. It made Severus almost seem like a good teacher. But then, he had always known that teaching was not his calling. It did help fill the old coffers and kept him from going hungry, but he hated children of all ages, so teaching them, disciplining them, and eating with them, had perhaps not been the best move on his part. But what was there to do about that? When he had come to Dumbledore, he had been desperate, and teaching had seemed like a haven at the time.

He didn't like to think about Dumbledore, though, so he rushed forward and growled at the students in front of the door to enter the classroom. It had been a while since he had taught in the dungeons, so when he entered the room, he was shocked. It was almost worse than the time that Umbridge woman had invaded the D.A.D.A. office.

On the walls gaudy, medieval tapestries hung, covered in depictions of goblin duels, famous wizards, and gory battles. For some reason beyond Severus's fathoming, curtains of burgundy velvet covered a few areas. There were no bloody windows! Why were there curtains? He sidled up to the curtains and attempted to rip them off, but it was to no avail. They had been magically reinforced. He did discover that behind the curtains, murals of the outside world had been painted, complete with cute little bunnies hopping across rich green grass and butterflies fluttering through a brilliantly blue sky. He snarled in disgust.

"Why don't you take them down with your wand, Professor?" some impertinent young boy asked after watching Severus struggle with the velvet curtains for a few minutes.

Snape turned angrily on him.

"Name, year, and house, boy," he snarled, a few water droplets flying through the air from his damp hair.

"Edward Fitzhugh, fourth year, Ravenclaw."

"And I thought Ravenclaws were smarter than that. Fifteen points from Ravenclaw."

There were a few groans, but he turned his eyes to the rest of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and they stopped. His guard took a step out the door for a moment, and then returned before Snape even really missed him. "Good. Take your seats. We will begin with page fifty-seven—"

"But sir! We're only on page—"

"I could not possibly care less, Mr. Fitzhugh."

Suddenly, the door banged open and an irate Minerva walked into the room.

"Severus, might I see you outside for a moment?"

He was, of course, obliged to obey, but it was nice of her to ask. Not.

"Is there something wrong, Headmistress?" he asked innocently when the door was shut.

"Did you even bother to read the list I gave you, Severus? If you have not, I suggest you do, and quickly. Every time you break one of my rules, Clarence tells me and I am compelled to come down here."

"Who is Clarence?"

"The guard. That is beside the point. This time I was in the middle of a very important meeting with Mr. Potter. Before that, I was in the middle of my morning tea. I do not like to be disturbed during my morning cup, Professor." She glared at him a moment. "Now… Read the list. I want to watch you read it."

"My guard is spying on me?"

Minerva looked at him, so Severus pulled the list from his pocket. It was slightly damp

and wrinkled from picking it up with his wet hands and folding it repeatedly.

The words were neatly printed in either green or black ink. At the top it stated that those stated in green were rules reinforced by magic, and those in black were simply rules to be obeyed of his own accord. Three of them were black. The other ten were green.

Thankfully it was not a long list, but it was a restrictive one.

_1. You will remain in your quarters unless teaching, eating meals, or attending designated occasions, at which times you will report to the classroom, Great Hall, or designated area with all punctuality. Absence at the appropriate times will be justly punished. Visits to the library are permitted between five and nine o'clock. _

_2. You will only be allowed out of your rooms at times other than class and meals if accompanied by Headmistress McGonagall or one appointed by her to accompany you to the designated area._

_3. Extensive fraternisation with students shall not be allowed. _

_4. You will retire at ten in the evening and rise by seven in the morning on all days, excluding weekends and holidays._

_5. You will not be permitted to deduct points from the four Houses. If there is a complaint worthy of deduction, you shall present it in written form before the headmistress for her perusal._

_6. All classes will be taught in a civil manner, without bias or ill temper._

_7. You shall not be allowed to touch another witch or wizard's wand._

_9. Visitors are permitted, but only at times between curfew, meals, and classes._

_10. The headmistress must approve any and all visitors._

_11. You will be required to attend all school functions, such as, but not limited to, Quidditch games, feasts, and seasonal parties and/or celebrations._

_12. You will be required to form twenty hours per month of service to the school. The headmistress will decide the activities in which you will be spending these hours._

_13. All rules and regulations set forth by Headmistress McGonagall will be obeyed with promptitude and respect._

_14. Transgressions are punishable by whatever means the headmistress sees fit._

He sighed, even more disturbed than he was upon first being told he would be teaching once again.

"You honestly expect me to obey these rules? Like some first year?"

"Yes."

"Oh." He glanced at the rules again. Especially number fourteen. "Well, so sorry, ma'am, I will get on the right path once again, ma'am, and you just say the word and I'll bend over for my whipping, with all due respect, ma'am."

"Don't be snide with me, Severus. Just remember that you are magically bound to this school, and at any moment I could be watching you. One more transgression and I shall be forced to think up proper punishment, Professor."

"Oh, Merlin help me," Severus muttered as McGonagall's wide behind bounced away to talk to Harry Potter. _Urgh_.

Upon entering his classroom, he found it in complete disorder. If there was one thing he could not stand, it was chaos, an aversion that had saved his life many times. At this moment, a wand would have been invaluable, but as he had none, he used his natural talents.

"Stop!" he boomed, his voice reaching such an impressive volume that it caused the students to stop their chatter and idle throwing of items across the room immediately. Since his magical power was now significantly diminished, he would have to use pure intimidation. He didn't mind. Not one bit.

"The next time I leave a room and return to find you in such a state," he said in a low, quiet voice, the change making some students lean forward in an effort to hear. "I will personally ensure that Caretaker Filch hangs you from your thumbs, just as he has always longed to do. And _then_, I will report you to the headmistress for further punishment. Every single one of you, if necessary."

The room was silent. They would soon rediscover Severus Snape's form of teaching. He limped to the front of the room.

"Why do I see no open books? Page fifty-seven."

The newly obedient students flipped through their books as he went to the chalkboard and began manually writing out instructions. He could see how teaching would become tedious without the use of a wand.

- - - -

It had been an exhausting day, full of dense Hufflepuffs, snide Gryffindors, know-it-all Ravenclaws, and disappointingly slow Slytherins. He was ready to slip between his soft, warm sheets, courtesy of house elves, and fall into a potion-induced dreamless sleep. This was not meant to be, however, as the moment he turned to go to his quarters, he felt the sudden pull of that invisible force. He tumbled onto his back, the hem of his robes flying up as his head crashed through the air. He pondered his luck when he saw no one nearby other than the astoundingly silent Clarence. Apparently, however, the force in the halls was not going to let him go anywhere but the Great Hall. He gave his tired eyes a rub, and then walked slowly to the crowded, loud room. Some of the students he had taught that day got silent, but otherwise, no one stared too terribly.

"Professor Snape, Clarence! So good of you to join us. I don't believe you've met some of our newer teachers." Minerva offered up their names. "There's Professor Angelina Douglas, who teaches Transfiguration. She's a brilliant girl, went to a school in Italy, you know. And then there's Madam Topia, the new nurse. And where is our new Muggle Studies teacher, Professor Flitwick?" Minerva slyly asked, a smile broadening on her face.

"I do believe she's a bit ill, Headmistress. She went to the hospital wing and has been confined by the dear Madame Topia," the tiny, greying Charms professor answered, throwing a look the way of the new school nurse that made Snape feel a bit sick. He stored away Flitwick's crush for a later time.

"Of course you can leave, Professor. Did you eat all of your vegetables?" Minerva mocked when Severus asked to leave later. He had put up with as much of Hagrid's semi-drunken ravings as much as he could. How he loathed that beast.

"I will not answer that question," he responded. She merely laughed and waved him off.

Lying in his bed, freshly showered and donned in warm woollen pyjamas, Severus had nothing to do but think. He was too tired to sleep, too tired to get up and do something, and he was certainly in no mood to talk to the painfully silent guard.

He thought of the students he had been forced to unwillingly choke down all day, without even the dignity of taking away their points. Every single one of them reminded him of Harry Potter, that stupid Auror, the supposed saviour of the wizard race. Pah. That boy had very little to do with the saving of the world. While he was off with his little friends, searching aimlessly all over England, Severus had been here, at Hogwarts, uncovering the mysteries of Voldemort and Dumbledore, trying to solve the endless puzzle. And then what happened? In the throes of death he yielded his most precious memories to that twat, revealing his greatest, most beloved secret in a single moment.

Those were all the memories of Lily. In his mind there was a special collection of those memories, stolen moments with the only woman he had ever loved, from the perfect to the painful, and he would never forget. So much beauty and perfection in one person. He wondered if she had been human at all, or perhaps just an angel or vision sent to this world to break his cold heart. Silly girl. Threw away her beautiful life for the love of a selfish, delusional little boy, and now in a place beyond him, leaving only her tantalising memories, memories of her words, her scent, her brilliant green eyes, her pert, freckled nose, the perfect copper hair that swayed around her and reflected light to make a halo. He had loved her. Oh, how he had loved her! It ached to think of it, but he couldn't stop, didn't want to.

He remembered all the times he had looked at another woman and found himself comparing her to Lily Evans, always finding her wanting. Often they had beauty, but no intelligence, or they lacked the spark that seemed to light Lily's eyes when she was interested or excited or happy…. Actually, that spark was in her eyes almost all the time. But not that once, when that evil word had slipped off of his tongue and estranged her forever.

How he had loathed himself after that. His hatred for himself in conjunction with his hatred for the world sent him spiralling downward, into the bone-thin, wretched arms of the Dark Side, his single tie to the light being that red-headed woman. It burned when she invited him to her wedding. It had hurt him so much that he had hidden from everyone who knew him for an entire week. That week had been spent in Muggle bars, salty water making his drinks taste terrible. And then, she was gone. The only place she remained was in his mind, that steel trap no one could enter without his permission. She had been the soft core in his frozen heart, and now he was stone.

The tortured professor dozed off, and never would he admit that as he fell into slumber, a drop slid from his eye to the pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Severus Snape had never liked surprises. It was not in his nature. After a life of avoiding anything unexpected, he would not soon start enjoying the vile shocks anytime soon. Thus, when McGonagall introduced, if such a word could be chosen, the two new professors who had been absent the night before, Snape did not like the feeling of shock that came over him. How could they have allowed it to happen? Surely even Minerva knew that those two were unacceptable as teachers.

"Professor, I would like to show you two of our newest members on staff, Professor Longbottom and Granger. A pair of more qualified teachers I have never seen. Mr. Longbottom teaches Herbology, and you could guess that Miss Granger is in charge of Muggle Studies."

Snape, not knowing what else to do, glared at the pair. Longbottom had gotten gangly in his year's absence, and Granger had apparently learned how to braid her hair so that its frizzy curls were not so evident, but otherwise, the two looked the same. He continued to glare through the entire meal, scaring a few students to his mild mirth. At least some things about the infernal school were the same. He listened to McGonagall fill the two new "professors" in on his situation as if he were out of earshot, though he knew that Minerva knew that he was not, in fact, outside of hearing them. He did not like the way they chuckled all the time. It wasn't hard to recognize that Minerva had found a pet in Granger and a sort of son in Longbottom. It was sickening.

"I think I'll turn in for the night, Headmistress," he said to Minerva haughtily.

"You didn't say the magic word, Professor," she retorted, never looking up from her pudding. Anger boiled over in Severus.

"I am not a child, Minerva! I should be allowed to leave dinner when I want! And this ridiculous list of rules! If I had a wand, Minerva," he said, lowering his voice threateningly.

"_Petrificus Totalus_." Oh, Merlin help him, he had been turned into a mannequin. Swaying stiffly on his completely useless feet, he fell backwards in one graceful arc, his head hitting the back of a chair as he hit the ground. All went black.

- - - -

"I can't help but call this the worst day of my life," he told the portrait of a centaur that hung on the wall in his otherwise barren washroom. The centaur nodded sagely, not really listening to the ravings of the ridiculous man before him. His head was wrapped in white gauze, contrasting starkly with his lank, black hair, and his robes were mussed and stained. "How could they let a know-it-all and a buffoon teach here?" he pondered, and then went back to staring at the painting.

"Perhaps not the worst day, considering the life I've led," he amended, and then returned to his bedroom to curl disconsolately beneath the blankets. He intentionally avoided looking at Clarence. Having forgotten that he was there, Snape was now embarrassed that he had spoken to a painting.

"Talking to painting of horses now, Severus?" an incorporeal voice said. He jumped, and the centaur from the painting voiced a complaint. "So sorry. Centaur. There's only one horse's rear end in here."

Looking to his once-empty grate, Snape discovered that it had a face floating in pinkish flame. "McGonagall, this is an intrusion of privacy that I must protest against."

"No, it's not. You're a prisoner. Any protestation will go ignored. But I have decided upon the way in which your twenty hours of service to the school will be spent. It has a dual purpose, as I am sure you will see when I tell you." There was a pregnant pause.

"Are you going to tell me or not?"

"Oh, yes, yes, quite. Well, I have decided that you will help Professors Longbottom and Granger in the unpacking and arranging of their classrooms. Poor dears, their rooms were in complete shambles after the attack, and haven't been straightened since. So you will help to remedy that, and you will do it with a smile on your face," she said. Snape glared. "Or as close to a smile as you get. Anyway, you'll start tomorrow. It's a bit of a punishment for Neville's rather tactless remarks and Miss Granger's unauthorized use of a curse on a prisoner. Oh, and Clarence will be allowed to take a post outside the door, if he wishes. Don't want to wear the poor thing out with the prattle of teachers. If Longbottom or Miss Granger injure you, they have to answer to me. Goodnight, Severus."

"Minerva," he simply said, glaring at her disembodied face. She disappeared once more, leaving his grate as cold as it ever was. "Something about being at the head of this school makes people go completely insane, I think," he told the centaur. The centaur did not bother to respond. Severus did not see Clarence staring at him pityingly.

- - - -

Severus pulled the blankets over himself and pondered the awful day he had had.

Apparently, Granger had been the one to put him in the body bind, and afterward, Neville had made some remarks, which Severus would have never suspected from a man who had once been such a timid, mousy, and weak boy. However, they all claimed that he had been called some things in his state of unconsciousness that made Madame Topia blush while she inspected the cut on his head.

To add insult to injury, when he had been wakened, the insolent little nurse had handed him a bottle of shampoo with a disapproving look on her face. Insolent wart of a woman, he decided. What was wrong with the old nurse, anyway? She asked lots of questions, but she never made any snide suggestion about his hygiene. He almost missed the old hag, in her strange white outfit and large hat. Almost.

And what was the good of a guard if he didn't protect his ward from deranged teachers?

He would complain to Minerva in the morning.

He would be teaching with a twit and a simpleton. Brilliant. He decided sleep was the best cure to this predicament, so he swallowed half a bottle of dreamless sleep potion.

- - - -

The next day he received a note via paper airplane that he was to begin his services to the school that night at seven. The evil woman was taking up two precious hours of his time. When was he ever to be expected to grade papers? Not that he had assigned any yet, but he would soon. The only reason he hesitated was the threat of the long chore of grading without aid of magic. The thought itself was daunting, much less the task. Not only that, but she skipped breakfast, so he could not complain about the futility of his useless Ministry protection. That was frustrating, though to a lower degree than his new punishment.

Classes that day quieted pleasantly at his entrance, simultaneously opening their books and flipping pages in neat unison. That, unfortunately, ended his list of improvements. The Granger girl was glaring at him over her porridge at breakfast, and that Longbottom would not stop pointing and sniggering beside Hagrid whenever he entered the room. Minerva, the snide, sneaky wench, never missed an opportunity to turn her twinkling, laughing eyes on him during her passing inspections through all the departments. He felt like telling her how wide her posterior really was.

And then, of course, there was the incident in his rooms that had made her rather irate. He nearly chuckled, but then the repercussions rankled through his mind again and the laughter died before passing his throat.

In a fit of temper, he had… _reorganized_ his quarters. 'Completely trashed' would be a more apt phrase, perhaps, but the verbiage was relative. Clarence had been on a coffee break, thinking the professor to be safely tucked into his quarters, making lesson plans. When a meek little house elf apparated down, he had once again let his temper shine through and kicked the scrawny creature. But that was all irrelevant. What mattered was the punishment. She placed his use of house elves on an undefined hiatus until he learned to control his temper, but she also withheld Clarence's rights to coffee breaks. A small bit of reconciliation. After she walked out of the door, she cackled maniacally; Severus was certain of this, though the spells around his door made it impossible to hear much of anything.

The suspension of elf use meant if he wanted tea, he had to make it himself. He would have to clean his quarters himself, clean his own clothing, and make his own bed. Curse that woman. She claimed it was not her fault that he had such an ill temper, but it was. She was a vindictive, evil, obese, old, wrinkly, cruel witch, and she enjoyed seeing him suffer; therefore, it was not his fault, but hers.

Thoughts of revenge were temporarily stalled by a glance at the clock, revealing his lateness for the scheduled "services." Well, that muggle born could wait, as could the baboon in the Herbology building. Unfortunately, the plan to amble to their rooms lacked fruition, mainly because the magic compelled him to practically run.

He was first expected in the Herbology with "Professor Longbottom." Refraining from laughing at the thought of the timid, meek student becoming a teacher, Severus entered the room with a swish of his cloak. Clarence posted himself at the door. The surroundings of the room surprised him. When Sprout taught, the room had been full of flowers. Though she liked the other plants, Professor Pomona Sprout had had an affinity for flowers in particular, and a short venture through her office meant a bout of sneezes for the rest of the day. Longbottom seemed to have different tastes, however. The room was filled with strange, vile-looking plants, dirt covered the floor, and Longbottom was leaning back precariously on two legs of a spindly chair, a book in his hands.

"You were expecting me," Snape offered. Longbottom jumped in surprise, sending the teetering chair to the floor, the Herbology professor along with it, and his book high into the air. The book landed at Severus' feet, so he bent and picked it up as Neville struggled to regain an upright position. His hand brushed a plant that ejaculated sickly pus all over Longbottom, further distracting him as Severus read the title: The Alchemist and the Hag: an Enchanted Encounters Novel by Fifi Lafolle

"Yes, I _was_ expecting you. I need help cleaning this place up," Longbottom replied crossly. Snape was shocked. Where had the timid lad gone who had stuttered into his class, always unprepared and harried? "It is shocking, isn't it? I guess fighting Voldemort changed us all," Neville said, obviously guessing Snape's thoughts. "You are far less threatening than the Carrows and all of those Death Eaters and the giants and the spiders."

Snape looked at the dirty floor, remembering his time as headmaster. Not a good time. He chanced a glance at Neville's face, noting a few white scars around his mouth and eyebrows. The Carrow siblings had been viscous, but he had been unable to stop them without compromising his position in the Dark Lord's favor.

The work he performed at Neville's side was tedious and aggravating without his wand. Longbottom did earn an inch of respect, though, but not enough for Snape to change his opinion of the former student. How he longed for his wand! A few simple things could be done without it, but they were tricks unless done on accident, and of what use was accidental magic?

After an hour of sweeping up dirt, dusting and rearranging plants, and watching uselessly as Longbottom patched up holes, scorings, and cracks in the walls and ceilings, he reported to the Muggle Studies wing.

The Granger girl was already at work in her adjoining office, a room into which Severus had rarely ventured. Now it was rather densely filled with books, giving the room a pleasantly musty smell and the air a feeling of thickness. Other than the books, the room was fairly organized, despite various holes and scorch marks on the walls, and overturned furniture. She had obviously been working since she had inherited the rooms.

She was wearing rather worn muggle clothes, though still tasteful, and her hair was once again braided neatly. The braid was lengthy, something he had never noticed before, and the rather pleasant shade of chestnut. When she turned from the desk, he noted with surprise the spectacles perched on her narrow nose.

"Miss Granger," he said with a nod.

"Ah, yes, Professor, do come in," she offered in an overly polite tone. He was used to such tones by this time, as it was a common way of dealing with him amongst the members of the Order and sympathizers to them. "I suppose you can start shelving those books on that table," she told him, deftly charming the bulky shelf into the corner. "I would like them to be in alphabetical order by author if possible." It was a tedious chore, but it blessedly required a little thought and kept his hands busy, as his mind was feeling quite exhausted.

After about half an hour of sorting, he found the witch by his side, her hands deftly placing the tomes in piles according to the way he had been doing it.

"Why don't you just cast a spell?" he asked, wondering that a talented witch such as

herself would waste time doing work manually.

"I… I wasn't aware there was a spell for sorting books," she said, obviously surprised that he had taken the incentive to start a conversation.

"Indeed," he said scathingly, pausing to let the slur on her ability sink in. "It's simple, really. You are familiar with the Banishing Charm?" She nodded, the slightest smile flitting onto her bemused face. "It is the same theory, but with a slight alteration." He explained the spell for a moment longer, and then watched as she performed it to perfection. It was almost like being able to cast the spell himself. His hands itched for a wand. He watched her thin hands wrap around the wooden stick. And then he felt as though he could see into his future, and desolation swept over him. Suddenly, he no longer felt greedy, but tired. And he felt old, so very old.

"Professor?" He heard, but he didn't pay any attention, distracted by his revelation. "Perhaps you should sit down, sir; you don't look well," she said, and he tried to pull himself out of it.

"No, I'm _fine_," he growled, shrugging off her concern. She continued to look at him oddly, but said nothing and continued to put her texts onto the shelves using that valuable little wand that he would never be able to touch. He hated Hermione Granger that moment. But then he cleared his mind of the befuddled emotions and returned to the room in which he sat.

"Anything else you require, Miss Granger?"

"No, Professor, I think that will be all. You can leave if you like." He did like. He liked very much. Turning on his heel, he headed for the door almost happily, ready to sink into bed and sleep. Unfortunately, when he touched the doorknob, he felt all of the magical energy in his body drain away to nothing. How was it possible? He pulled away his hand and evaluated his body. Now he felt even more tired, but he could feel his power blessedly rejuvenating. At least it wasn't permanent. He tested it again, with the same results, and then decided further experimentation was not necessary.

"Professor?" Hermione said upon seeing him reenter the room. "Are... are you quite sure you're not ill?" she asked when she saw his pale face.

"I am fine," he assured her, gasping a little. He was so tired…. He woke up in an armchair, not remembering having fallen asleep. "What time is it?" he asked Hermione, whose face floated into view.

"Nearly ten. I think you should leave, sir, and go to the Hospital Wing," suggested she, concern grudgingly etched across her face. It was a young, pleasant face, but there was age in her eyes, and the bright light of intelligence.

"Quite so. But not the Hospital Wing. My rooms. Minerva will personally perform the Cruciatus on me if I'm not in bed when the clock strikes ten."

"I don't know that you'll make the dungeons by yourself, sir. I could assist—"

"Nonsense. I can and I shall. Until next time, Miss Granger," he said, getting up rather quickly. Just as quickly, he fell back into the seat. "I got up too quickly; that is all," he insisted, blocking her cries of protest. Upon repeating this performance, he decided to let the foul creature escort him to his quarters.

It was a gruesome trip, supported by the girl's shoulders half the way. At one point she had the presence of mind to conjure him a cane, something he had been desperately in need of since the snakebite but had refused to buy on the grounds that he was too young to use a walking stick.

"That will be all, Miss Granger," he imperiously sneered at the defenceless young girl. She looked flabbergasted for a moment, but then huffed and left him to himself. As quickly as he could, he limped to his wardrobe, threw on pyjamas, and leapt into his bed, just half a minute before the bells in the great clock tower chimed out ten times.

- - - -

The next day, Severus taught his classes with a keen sense of restlessness. He had been getting too much sleep, and it made him grumpy. Well, grumpi_er_. It was hard not being able to deduct points. He did fill out a few of the written complaints that McGonagall was supposed to look over and consider, and that was slightly satisfying, but not effective.

He tried to skip meals, but naturally it didn't work. He felt that awful draining sensation, then shot out the door like a bat let loose, Clarence calmly trailing him like some fictional villain. The next few days were dull and tiresome. He was rather bored with life in general, sick of his dense students and mealtime conversation that seemed chosen to annoy him.

So many of the teachers were sympathetic to the Order it made him sick. All they seemed to talk about was Harry Potter's _miraculous_ revival, the _spectacular_ fall of the Dark Lord, and the _astounding_ turn of events. It was because of Severus Snape that the events had turned, but did anyone mention that? Not that he wanted them to, but it would be more welcome than listening to long soliloquies about Potter's wit, cunning, and his amazing self-sacrifice. Nothing about Severus Snape nearly dying, oh, no. But there was one pleasant result of the lack of appreciation of the Potions master. No one spoke to him about his memories. Potter seemed to have only told a select few, or perhaps none at all. The arrogant boy might have finally learned something about the tact of withholding information.

There was also an alarming pattern of discussing personal relationships at the table. He knew all about everyone's fiancés and spouses, who was dating whom and how well it was going, and the plans of famous couples. Once again Potter was a favourite, with his little affair with Ginevra Weasley. Severus nearly gagged at the thought. Granger had plans to marry the youngest Weasley boy, too, but she had the sense to be reluctant to speak about it. Longbottom seemed to have the dating patterns of the Floo Network: in one day and out the next. The frivolous affairs of teachers were quite beneath him, though, and so he usually stared intently at his soup and avoided the eyes of the others, not wanting entrance into their conversations.

And then, the day rolled around that he had to return to his duties as a prisoner. Neville's classroom seemed even more dirt-covered and full of slimy, clingy plants. Clarence lingered at the end of the corridor, apparently planning to stay there. Severus walked to the door alone. When he reported to Granger's rooms, she answered the door in a bathrobe.

"Oh, I completely forgot!" she exclaimed. He glimpsed pale skin and yellow satin beneath her woolen bathrobe. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I'm finished with the organizing and cleaning. I have nothing for you to do. I should have told Professor McGonagall, but I forgot. Lesson plans and Ron," she stopped and her eyes widened, then she looked at her feet with a blush. He was curious for a moment, but then decided to spare her the embarrassment, for the moment, of discussing her fiancé, and returned to the topic at hand.

"Well, as much as I would love to return to my quarters, Miss Granger, I find that it is impossible, due to my status as prisoner. I'm afraid my whereabouts at all times are regulated, and if you don't let me inside at this moment, I think I might pass out on your threshold." It was true. That terrible draining feeling had heightened as she had spoken, and a single glance at his paling face showed her that he was not lying. She quickly stepped to the side and allowed him to pass.

It was embarrassing, honestly. At the drop of a hat, he was completely incapacitated. He longed to escape from under Minerva's thumb. Granger rushed about, entering her office and returning to the classroom with a cup of tea in hand.

"Here you go, Professor, have some tea. When can you go back? You can wait in here if you like. I was just writing some letters and finishing up my lesson plans for next month."

"You do your lesson plans by the month?"

"Well, yes."

Severus did nothing but snort into the steaming cup of tea. She looked abashed, but turned to her desk and dipped a quill with great deliberation, purposely not looking in his direction.

"There is nothing wrong with being prepared," she burst, finally breaking the silence.

"There is something wrong with being a pompous twit, however," he mumbled.

"I don't need this!" she cried. "You are a bitter man with a head full of _awful _things, and I don't have to put up with this condescension! You chose the wrong side, and I chose the right one. It's _your_ fault, not mine, so stop being such a complete arse!"

Snape did nothing, only staring at the swirling milk in his tea, and tried to suppress the memory of waking up from death with Hermione leaning over him. He attempted to forget the yellow satin and her thin hands dipping the quill in the inkwell.

"A-are you all right?" she stammered, standing. "You look pale, Professor."

"I think I ought to go, now," he muttered, standing.

"Are you sure?"

"I should think so, Miss Granger. Perhaps… Perhaps you should conjure that walking stick again, though." It almost hurt to ask for it, but he had to admit that he needed it once again.

"I forgot they broke your wand," she murmured, looking at her own before she gave it a wave. The stick appeared more thin and elegant than last time. She handed it over and he began to hobble out, feeling insurmountably older than thirty-seven.

"Wait!" she called as he touched the doorknob. He turned slightly. "There are other ways, you know. Many witches and wizards don't realize that muggles have been telling us what to do all along. Maybe not powerful, but possibly effective, I think."

"What are you talking about?"

"Ever heard of the Lord of the Rings? Tennyson's epic poems? Macbeth, even." She seemed to be in another world, and then he realized that she was: the muggle world.

"No," he responded slowly.

"Muggles don't know about us now, but at one time they did. They like to come up with theories, you know, about magic. Staffs that channel magic, rings of power, stones, even words that hold power over objects. They like the idea of magic, even though they can't handle it in reality. And who's to say all of them are wrong?"

"I still don't see how you can think this is relevant to me. Minerva would shut me down the moment she thought I was up to something, not to mention neither of us know anything about wand lore or the most intricate and complex forms of magical channeling." She looked down. "You _do_ know something about magical channeling?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. His face returned to a more passé expression. "Wand lore." The look of surprise returned to his face. "Ollivander and I correspond. After he helped Harry with the Elder Wand issue, I realized how little I knew about wands, so… now I have enough letters on the topic that I could literally write a book."

Severus Snape was unable to comment. By some means, this girl had managed to surpass nearly all of the wizards in the world in knowledge and magical ability, and was furthermore divulging into him that she knew about a highly secretive facet of the magical world that only about ten wizards had ever known at one time.

"It's almost ten," she told him, breaking his train of thought.

"Oh," he said, still a bit shocked. "Of course. Goodnight, Miss Granger."

"Goodnight, Professor."

He had a lot to think about as he lay in bed that night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"I accept."

Hermione Granger jumped as her door burst open and someone loudly proclaimed those two words. She was wearing her striped pyjamas beneath her old Seventh Year robes, her large-framed glasses, and a pair of satin slippers Ron had bought her after an Auror trip to Asia. In her hand was a gargantuan mug of tea, and she was sprawled on the chair of her desk, where she had been gazing dumbly at un-graded papers. She could guess who it was, and when she looked up, she found that her speculation was correct. Severus Snape.

"What?" she asked, truly not knowing what the person in her door was telling her.

"Did I startle you?" he asked, a hint of pleasure oiling his voice. He shut the door in the face of Clarence, his annoyingly omniscient protector.

"Slightly. What are you accepting, Professor?"

"The proposition of making an alternate form of wand, or whatever you want to call it. I hope you have a few ideas of where to start, being the expert in the wand lore field."

"Oh," she said, surprised. "Well, yes, but… how did you get here?"

"I walked, Miss Granger," he responded dryly. "Something most humans do, even magical humans. If you are referring to my limitations of imprisonment, then I will remind you that neither one of us told Minerva that you were finished, and therefore I am still expected to report to you."

"Right." She managed to recover from his sudden appearance. "Well, I suppose if you're going to be here for another hour, we might as well work on our magical theory a little."

Hermione retreated to her rooms to retrieve the letters, but when she turned to leave the room with the letters loosely in her hand, she screamed and the papers flew into the air. He had frightened her _again_. He almost laughed at her reaction.

"Will you get out of my bedroom?" she shrieked, regretting the words the moment they left her mouth. It was completely out of turn to speak to a professor like that. But he _was_ a slimy git, just as Ron and Harry always insisted. Regret melted away as he smirked in the direction of the fallen letters. "Do you ever cease to act like a complete prat?" she yelled.

A black eyebrow lifted smoothly. The old face looked a little younger for a moment, and those cold eyes seemed to look far away. He snapped back to reality with a snarl. "That was out of turn, Miss Granger. Besides, you might have… hurt my feelings," he responded cuttingly.

Severus' mind began to race. Behind her eyes he had seen something familiar, and he was terrified by it. She had looked exactly like Lily after he had called her that awful word; that pity, respect, and hatred, all blending inharmoniously yet perfectly in a combination that he both loathed and feared. Of course, Hermione Granger looked nothing like Lily Evans. Although she did have the same nose, in a way, with the slight upward turn and a dusting of light freckles. But no, there was nothing else there. Besides the way her eyes lit up, just like Lily's. And the way she was so brilliant it was frightening. The little curls near her neck, just like Lily's, even a little red from the light of the fire.

He must stop the ridiculous digressions. She was now picking up the letters, her head bent. Was he mistaken, or was that sniffling he heard? He listened closer, looking intently at the back of her head. Yes, it was. Women. He sighed.

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her robes and stood, letters in her hands, eyes wet and nose red.

"Why in the name of Merlin are you sobbing in the floors, immediately after an enraged outburst, Miss Granger?" he asked in the most uncaring voice he could muster.

"Nothing. Just a bad day, I suppose. And when a _bete noire_ like you shows up, I suppose I have a difficult time containing myself. Ron wrote, and he—" she stopped herself, realizing that she had almost divulged highly personal information to Severus Snape.

"Could you please just leave?" she asked softly, feeling that burning sensation behind her eyes and nose again. She refused to cry twice in front of this man.

"I can't leave, Miss Granger," he said after a lingering pause.

"Fine. Just go to my office. Take these," she said, handing him the letters. "I'll… I'll come back up in a few minutes."

Before Snape even left, she was walking toward her cozy four-poster bed. When he shut the door, she glanced about to ensure her solitude, and then pulled the letters from beneath her pillows. Some of them were tied into neat stacks with pristine yellow ribbons and perfect bows, other piles were wrapped in rough twine, and three were loose. Those last three revealed the source of her distress. The ones in yellow ribbon were the sweet letters of love and affection from her eager boyfriend, the twine-tied letters were informative and thoughtful paragraphs written by a fond fiancé, and the three loose parcels were the terse responses of an ex-lover.

How had things escalated so quickly?

He had gotten angry at her so rapidly, as was his wont, but rather than writing an apology to follow a few minutes after the first letter, he had left her isolated, not responding to her tender letters of questions. Finally he had sent two more letters, the first telling her that their relationship was falling apart, the second proclaiming that he wanted the ring back. The insensitivity, the injustice! Ron had never been known for tact, though. She should have expected it when she got involved with him, and since she hadn't been skeptical, she had been hurt.

Wiping away those ashamed and hurt tears, she stood with the letters and threw them into the fire, watching the yellow ribbons instantly curl and shrivel, the twine slowly burn away with a brilliant red glow, and the parchment turn brown and wither. It was satisfying and marked her resolution. Then she turned from the flame and pulled the antique, goblin-made engagement ring from her pale, slim finger, and slipped it into an envelope. After quickly scrawling on his name and address, she poured on the melted wax and pressed the Hogwarts seal onto the flap. A single sigh escaped her lips as she tied the letter to a borrowed owl's leg and watched it fly into the darkening sky.

It took about five minutes to right her appearance, but when she appeared in her office, Severus was gone, as were her letters. He had left a short note telling her that he had gone to his quarters and would return the letters at the next scheduled time. He wrote as if he expected her to tell McGonagall that his continued services were needed.

But she thought about it for a moment, and then realized that she would not tell McGonagall. She pitied the man. He was alone, used, misunderstood, persecuted, emotionally and physically crippled, wandless, imprisoned, and broken-hearted. How could she not pity him? No. She would help him, and then never think about him again.

It suddenly occurred to her that helping him might be illegal. But the law never stated that he could not have a staff or ring, only a wand. So perhaps it was not illegal. At least she would have an argument for the Wizenmagot.

She settled into her bed with a muggle novel and her tea, reheated with a wave of her wand. Crying required recuperation. Grading papers required procrastination. Her evening met both requirements.

- - - -

"Are you going to help me at all, you worthless thing? What sort of paladin does a lump make?" he harshly questioned Clarence.

He should have asked her for the infernal walking stick before he walked out. Walking out had been a stupid idea, anyway. Why in the world was he trying to be considerate of her? He really should turn back and burst in on her, tears and all. But no. He limped on, his mind laden with the heavy guilt of thinking about anyone but Lily.

Lily. She had been on his mind frequently since he came to Hogwarts. Perhaps it was the memories of seeing her in these halls. He could still smell her perfume wafting behind her. She had been his best—no, his only—friend. He missed her so, so much. Closing his eyes, he had visions of her red hair running down her back. Those memories were from Transfiguration, when he had sat directly behind her in fifth year. She had turned and looked at him sometimes, her eyes smiling, even when her mouth was not. Sometimes she would even speak to him, and even if it was only to ask for a page number or the incantation she had missed, he felt blessed to hear the words fall from her lips. No, he would never think of another woman in the same light again. Not ever.

When he entered his rooms, he saw what a state they were in. Dirty robes were strewn across the floor, his bed was rumpled and the sheets hadn't been washed since he came to the school, ashes had been accumulating in the fireplace, and his bathroom was covered in mildew and damp towels.

He almost reached for his wand, and then remembered that he had neither wand nor house elves. Then he smiled at the thought that all that nonsense could change if the arrangement with Hermione worked out.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, his mind filled with a string of images: flesh beneath yellow satin; a thin, pale hand holding a long wand; tiny tendrils of brown hair shot with red in firelight curling around a pale neck. She was filling his mind! The thought of her name alone had filled his mind with faithless memories. Lily would be disgusted with him. Lily would be disgusted ten times over. He was an old man now, tired and crippled, scarred and beaten. He was thinking about a mere girl in an entirely inappropriate way. Even his rooms were disgusting. Lily would be the same age as he, but he imagined her only as being more beautiful, would that she were alive. Her hair would be shorter, probably, and her curves fuller. Maybe a few lines by her eyes that would only show her experience, not her age. Her eyes would be older, but no less bright.

He curled into his dirty, rumpled bed sullenly, missing her once again.

A/N: Very short, but an update is on its way. I'm on a roll!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

When Snape came to breakfast that morning, he looked so tired that Hermione almost felt worried for him. But then she remembered what a prat he was and all concern faded in the wake of her anger and embarrassment.

"Professor Snape," Minerva said as he sat on her left, his designated seat as resident prisoner. "Miss Granger informs me that she no longer needs help cleaning her rooms."

Severus felt his stomach.drop in amazement. It was similar to the feeling of missing a stair in the dark, but more painful. She was going to leave him without any help to make an experimental magical channel; he should have known that she would shy away with the threat of doing something illegal. She had been willing to break the rules for her fiancé and his best friend, but why should she help her greasy, decrepit Potions teacher? He sighed and glanced at his plate.

"She said that she still required your assistance, however, in gathering ingredients for a potions experiment. I told her that you would be more than willing to assist, and she has my permission to take you outside as long as she keeps you properly restrained."

Hermione was shocked when he looked up with eagerness and surprise on his face. That look, so young, made her stomach leap oddly. She dismissed it as a reaction to the copious amounts of tea she had been consuming recently and returned to her meal. But could he possibly _want_ to work with her? No. Of course he did not. He needed her. She was his only tie to regaining at least a little magical power, and that was the only reason his face lit up like that.

Professor Snape was so incredibly relieved. She hadn't abandoned him, after all, only made it easier for them to work on his staff. He turned back to his bowl of porridge with a slightly happier disposition. What Miss Granger did not know about her helping him was that he really did need her. He had felt his magical powers building up in him like lava beneath a volcano, lingering just beneath his self-control, but ready to explode at the drop of a hat. It made him restless and excited, always pacing with butterflies in his stomach, and he felt that he would die if he couldn't find a proper outlet soon.

- - - -

Two days later, he was sent a note through the fireplace that he was to be by the door immediately after his lessons. Urgh. Would they never stop pestering him with these distractions? He wanted a way to perform magic, but he also had a stack of essays from first years. It might take a week to get through them all if he went undisturbed, months if things continued like this.

After a day of his usual dense students and unsatisfying write-ups, he limped to the staircase, the pull of that invisible force egging him on. It was now familiar, and he was happy to say that he hadn't tumbled over for a few weeks. When he arrived, Granger was standing with her back to him, out of breath. She seemed to have run down, as her hair was bushier than usual, her robes were askew and rumpled, and she was not wearing shoes. 

Wait. No shoes? He looked again. Oh, she was putting them on. She turned slightly as she balanced on one foot and screwed on one of her sensible flats. When she got that one on, the other followed. He stood still for a moment, watching her attempt to balance. Half a second later her arm was milling furiously just as she began to fall. Rushing forward, the professor tried to catch her, but was restrained by his infernal infirmity and had to watch as she fell, his arms stretched in an attempt to break her fall from three feet away. Of course, he failed, but that had been expected. She looked up at him from the ground.

"Are you all right?" he asked, not with concern but with curiosity. Her eyes were wide and her mouth flapped open and closed a few times, emitting a few high-pitched squeaks. "So sorry, Miss Granger, but I don't speak Mermish."

"I'm…fine," she wheezed. Apparently the breath had been knocked out of her. He almost laughed. He allowed himself a low chuckle as she pulled herself clumsily from the ground. She gave him a truly angry scowl, which sobered him a bit.

"Come on," she said, walking out the doors.

The air was crisp and cold, making him happy he had worn his jet cloak over the customary black robes. He noted that the silly know-it-all had not known enough to wear an extra layer. She shivered hard as she walked out to the edge of the forest.

"What, pray, are we in search of, Miss Granger?" he asked silkily.

"Wood. Anything magical, really. Unicorn hair, any plants you can think of. We're working in a previously unexplored field. We can't afford to exclude items."

"Well, that makes our job _so_ much easier," he remarked in a low voice. 

"What?"

"Nothing."

It was still slightly light outside, but when they walked into the forest, all sun was completely blocked. Hermione pulled a jam jar from the pocket of her robes and charmed some blue flames into it.

"Here you go," she said, giving the jar to him. The flames were warm and bright, casting light onto her hand. A hand that had previously worn a glittering ring on the third finger that was no longer present. He nearly asked her what happened, but then remembered the day she had sent him away, tears filling her eyes. She lit the tip of her wand and they trudged on, Severus with an increasingly burdensome limp.

"Oh! Here," she sighed, exasperated that he refused to ask for help. She conjured up the walking stick for what seemed like the fortieth time. 

Why would he never ask for help? Even when he had been dying in the Shrieking Shack, he had refused to look at any of them and voice his need to be saved. Sure, it was sudden, and certainly Harry and Ron were distracted, but he could have said, "Miss Granger, if you would please reach into my pocket, I have the antidote." No, he wasted precious minutes throwing his memories at Harry, and of course after that Harry was completely hopeless, and of course Ron wouldn't think to save him, and of course he let himself black out. If he had just asked, he wouldn't be limping in the first place! In the darkness she found herself remembering that night.

_Harry looked at Snape as the professor died in front of his eyes. She had been quick to give him the flask, eager to know what Severus Snape, ultimate traitor, could possibly have to tell Harry, the bane of his existence. After the two boys left, she searched through his robes, hoping to find…something. Anything. Perhaps a will, a notebook, some crucial information. Normally she wouldn't be seen rifling through a dead man's robes, but desperate times and all that. _

She found a few scraps of parchment with Headmaster-ish notes scribbled on them. A few of the notes weren't comprehensible, at least not until after the battle, and none of them were important, so she continued to rifle through the pockets. Why did he have so many darn pockets? 

The little velvet bag caught her attention the moment it brushed her fingers. Why was the Potions professor carrying a velvet bag in his pocket? What did the bag contain? Was this the key to unveiling Voldemort's downfall? Eagerly she tore open the drawstrings and dumped the contents onto the floor. A few handfuls of what looked like dried herbs and leaves fell out, along with vials and small bottles. 

She nearly laughed. What had she expected? A potions master with a bag full of potions should have been anticipated. She shuffled through the bottles and vials, reading a few labels, sniffing some unlabeled ones, when she saw the vial of creamy potion. It looked like expensive muggle conditioner and smelled dangerous. Anti-venom, done the magical way. It wouldn't hurt to try, right? She parted his lips, her hands manipulating the chilled, pale flesh, and then poured the potion into his mouth and massaging his throat to make it go down more quickly.

It had worked. Those black eyes opened and blinked a few times.

"I'll send someone to help you. I have to go," she told him, and then ran from the room, leaving the bottles and vials all over the floor and a pained, injured Severus Snape alone.

She sent one of the medi-witches to see about him after it was all over. The young witch didn't seem keen on the task, but did as she was told. The next time Hermione saw him was at breakfast that first morning in the Great Hall.

"There's a unicorn," he whispered. She turned sharply and sure enough, the beautiful, horse-like creature stood, grazing leaves from low branches. It still had patches of gold fading into the pure silvery-white of an adult, but it was obviously male, and in fine condition. A sinful curiosity filled him as he looked at the beautiful specimen.

"Can you get a hair?"

"I'll try," she answered, then walked to the creature with a slow, even pace. The unicorn looked up and its muscles tensed in preparation for flight, but he didn't move. She inched closer and closer, and the unicorn remained.

Severus Snape was amazed. Here was a girl with nineteen years of life under her belt, two boyfriends, one fiancé, and months alone in the presence of the two adolescent boys, and she could still touch a unicorn without force.

For a moment she stroked the white coat, gleaming in the moonlight, and then inched to the tail of the creature. There she tenderly separated a few hairs from the rest and jerked. The unicorn whinnied and shied in protest, but didn't run. She gave it one last pat and returned to his side.

"All right, let's move on. I think I saw a nice birch tree over there," she wandered away towards the tree, leaving Severus alone for a moment. He inched toward the unicorn that was gazing at him curiously, with a look of intelligence and understanding. His palm stretched out toward the soft white nose. His pale hand was inches from the velvety muzzle—

"Professor?"

The hand jerked away, and with a regretful look at the unicorn, he moved toward Hermione Granger's voice.

Quite a lot had been learned in this venture, he decided.

- - - -

Waking up the next morning was torture. His dreams had been painful that night, full of dead faces and the Dark Lord's wrath. 

His life could have been simple, he thought. He could have been born to a happier mother and a father with control over his temper. He could have lived in another neighborhood, where he didn't know of anyone named Lily Evans. Life could have been easy. None of it would ever have happened. He would take the fate of a Squib over that of himself. What good was magic if it couldn't be used? But it was pointless to ponder the past. It was like the hypothetical Schrodinger's cat in the box. He had already opened the box. He couldn't make the cat come alive again. Thus, his fate was sealed, and he should get out of bed and go to breakfast before he lost himself in silly Muggle quantum mechanics theories.

His day was full of groggy half-memories, half-dreams, and the imposing faces of his students, all staring at him in expectation. He gave them simple assignments, too tired to really consider, much less grade, a complex potion. One cauldron was melted. Or perhaps two? The memories of the day were fading quickly. Age was creeping in on him, and he loathed it. Or perhaps it was not age. Maybe he was just worn out from the night before. Maybe he wasn't so old at all. 

That thought carried him to his bed an hour early and led him to a more peaceful night.

A few days later Granger took him out to the woods again. She informed him that she had been collecting things herself all week, and already had a myriad of supplies, so they could start working in a few days. He thought it rather anticlimactic that they only took a few more samples of wood, captured some Bowtruckles, and took some appendages from a dead Acromantula. 

"Are you sure this is all we need?" he asked, trying to keep the longing to stay in the forest from his voice. It _was_ the second time he had been outside since that carriage ride to the school. It had absolutely nothing to do with the lithe young maid crunching through the forest at his side.

"I'm not _sure_, of course, but I think this is enough for now. We will begin work on the… well, the whatever it is that we are creating." She paused, thinking and considering the effect of her next words, knowing how precarious the balance between them dangled. "We shall have to go to my personal rooms, as none of the others have an entirely confidential password."

He saved himself from stopping in his tracks, but just barely. The contents of the room would be obvious. Books, dust, probably a small bed tucked off to the corner, and some personal little touches. Photographs, perhaps, or a slightly flawed tapestry bought cheaply at a witch's sale. He took delight in thinking of her bedroom for a few moments, but then realized what he was doing and reminded himself of the cold and the dark.

Hermione heard a sound and jerked her wand to look in the direction of the noise. It was nothing, but Snape's eyes fell upon her hand. Her bare hand. He immediately stopped and began looking around on the ground. 

"What are you doing?" she asked irately, ready to settle by her fire with a cup of Earl Grey.

"Your ring, Miss Granger, is not on your hand. I assumed it had fallen off, so I thought I would aid in its recovery."

"Well, thoughtful as that is, Professor, it is not necessary."

"Oh, you put it away for safe-keeping?"

"No."

"Miss Granger, I find that I am quite baffled by you answers, which at best are ambiguous. Would it be impertinent of me to ask specifics?" 

"Rather. Professor, I am in no mood to discuss breaking up with a man who has probably only suffered heartbreak once, and from his own stupidity. Why must men be so stupid, so insensitive, so tactless!" she yelled, breaking into digressions in the middle of telling him off. "I did absolutely nothing to him, you know! And what did he do? Broke it off, without so much as a warning. I am left completely alone before the whole wizarding world while he goes to chase tail, or whatever it is people call whore-mongering these days."

Snape was stunned, but said nothing. Listening was too fascinating for interruption.

"Did you know they actually wrote a column about our engagement in the _Daily Prophet_? Yes, about two hundred words on Harry Potter's best friends tying the knot! And now I shall be utterly humiliated across the social pages. I can see the pictures now, Ron at all those parties he attends since he became famous, with some prettier, dumber thing hanging on his arm. How could I honestly be so stupid? He's nearly twenty now, but we're too young. Far too young for marriage, wouldn't you say? I've always known I was more mature than him, but I never expected it to manifest… like this." She had gotten quieter as she ranted on, sitting down. "I just wish I knew what was going on out there. Being in this school is like going to prison, but better food. The only way I get information is from other people, and I don't like it. Why did he have to break it off?" 

A greatly subdued Hermione began to cry. Then she began to sob. Finally, she howled and bawled, leaving Severus to stand

"I'm sorry," he said. She gasped and looked up to find him kneeling in front of her, his hands over her own. "I really do understand."

She looked into those horribly black eyes and found something she had not expected: warmth. He had always been cold, acrimonious, and sharp with her, but here he was, kneeling before her, asking forgiveness, and telling her he understood her pain. Not only that, but he meant it. She looked into his eyes and found true pain both reflected and originating in them.

"Thank you." She stood and turned to her desk. "Let's get to work."

The pair worked until it was time for Severus to leave. He left the girl's room, then was joined by the ever-silent Clarence, and walked to his own quarters thinking of what he had learned, not only about wands, but also about Hermione Granger. His store of information was growing. There was both relief and pain in this information.

Severus Snape had always been manipulative. He would not have survived all those years with Voldemort had he not been able to pull strings and create events. Now he was manipulating the Granger girl, but this was different. He was getting involved. Rule number one in the double-crosser's guidebook, if such a thing were to exist, would be never to get involved. If he had sympathized with Lord Voldemort, would he have been able to mercilessly arrange for his death? Had he opened up to Dumbledore completely, would he have been able to carry out the necessary murder?

No, he should not have let the girl know about his pain, the undying love that burned in his heart beneath the layers of pain and apathy, the love that motivated any act of good that he had ever carried out. Blast! He never should have let anyone know about Lily. Now Lucius, Potter, Granger, possibly the Weasley boy, and all of those people from his class at Hogwarts knew. How long before a novel was written? When would the story appear on the cover of some rubbish magazine? Would it be such a long time before the entire world knew Severus Snape's greatest weakness?

This fraternization would have to stop, immediately.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I don't know if anyone noticed, but I added a new character to the previous chapters. You see, I ran into the problem of Sevvie's being attacked by… well, anyone. You see, by taking away his wand, I left him incredibly vulnerable, so I had to add the practical and dashing young Clarence to the mix, giving Sevvie a body guard and therefore taking away that vulnerability that was so very dangerous. I know some of you will be pleased with the addition, and others will be indifferent, so I thought it safe to make this humble addition.

**Chapter Five**

There it stood, in the corner of her office. It was the final prototype of the first staff. It had taken two months to run through thousands of possible combinations, all of those hours spent cornered in her rooms, Clarence at the door.

Clarence. There was an interesting young man. Snape remembered the first time Clarence had spoken with him. It was two weeks into the making of the first staff Hermione and he had been attempting to build.

_"I know what you two are doing in there," the virile creature had said as they were returning to the Potions rooms late that night. _

"Do you?" Severus asked enigmatically.

"Maybe not exactly, but I know it's illegal."

"Then why don't you turn us in to the Headmistress? You two seem close."

"I am not a snitch, Professor. I was in Gryffindor with Harry Potter. I stayed behind when the final battle took place. I am not going to turn in someone who saved his life."

"Hmm. Saved his life, did I? Few seem keen on remembering that. Including the noble and oh-so-brave Mr. Potter."

"I also know about your grudge against him."

"I never tried to keep that hidden."

"Still. I won't turn you in."

"Thank you, Clarence. We don't intend to do anything harmful to the general populace." 

"_You're welcome. I understand the need to break rules once in a while, Professor." _

Severus smiled at the memory. Clarence would never be his friend, but it was good to have one more ally in this school, a person who did not hate him with a deep passion. He had never consciously minded being hated and alone, but he was only now realizing what he had been missing forgot or failed to make friends when he was too busy studying. There was always Lucius, but a relationship with that ruined aristocrat wasn't very useful anymore. 

"Well, what are you waiting for? Try it out!" Hermione Granger squealed excitedly.

They had tried a plethora of combinations, some more effective than others, and this was the pinnacle of their efforts. Still, Snape thought, there was no reason to _squeal_.

He picked up the thing and looked at it. She had obviously worked on it after he had left the night before. The staff gleamed with a layer of magical polish, with a large orb at the top, much like the pictures in Granger's illuminated edition of the _Lord of the Rings_, something she said she had quite enjoyed before coming to Hogwarts. It looked like a walking stick more than the giant sceptres carried by the fictional wizards, though. Gripping it in his hand, he thought he felt a promising tingle at his fingertips.

Certainly the stick was more awkward than his wand, and could not be held in the same manner, but to his amazement and elation, he felt all of that building magical tension flowing through him. It was a buzz, much like being slightly intoxicated, and the thrill whirled through his veins. With a sweeping motion, he cried out a spell.

"_Accio_ book," he stated. The book on the desk in front of him, coincidentally _The Fellowship of the Ring_, gave a half-hearted leap into the air, and he had to stretch to catch it, but he felt better already.

"It worked!" Hermione muttered.

"It did," Severus stated in a surprised whisper.

Hermione began clapping and leaping with overflowing joy. "We did it!" she nearly shouted. "I made the first alternative form of magical outlet!"

"Don't flatter yourself," he muttered, but she wasn't listening. Suddenly, she pounced in his direction.

"We did it," she whispered to him, her jumping and clapping having ceased when she came before him. The pair stared at each other deeply for a moment.

In her eyes, there was pure joy. In his, magic crackled and energy overflowed. It was a dangerous match. Completely in unison, the two fell together into a hard, fast kiss.

_Wrong! Too fast, too fast, _the professor thought as the kiss deepened and hands began to wander down his back, sending wonderful shivers crawling all over his body to his most sensitive and eager spots. Her lips were soft and full against his, sliding easily apart, and his own mouth moved against hers so smoothly, so _pleasurably_, that stopping was no longer a question. Warmth seemed to ooze from her body as he sent his own hands across the delicate curves. His pale, spidery fingers slid under the hem of her jumper and eased it up, up, up, until the pale flesh that had tantalised him all those nights was completely visible, but then his greedy hands covered the pillow-soft flesh and gave a rough squeeze. She moaned against his mouth and pulled his hips closer to rub, oh, so, so gently against her stomach. It was all too much. The pair fell to the carpet, shedding clothing as they went.

- - - -

"Well, that was embarrassing."

"It really is all right. It was a mistake to try that. I'm _glad_," she insisted.

"Well, I'm not," Severus said, pulling his black robes over his bare back angrily. His normally pale, sallow cheekbones burned with shame.

How could it have happened? He felt as if he had ruined everything. No, he was _sure_ he had ruined everything. And what was worse, he could give no excuse for his… inability to perform. The reason he had stopped would have disgusted her, repelled her, and destroyed whatever remnant of a relationship they might be able to salvage. What woman wanted to hear that while she was earnestly, blatantly, happily, and _effectively_ making love to a man, he was thinking of another woman? How could he have been such a blithering idiot? There before him, sprawled half-naked on the floor, lay a young, beautiful creature, ripe for the taking, and he had choked. Just as he was about to join her writhing body for the first time, a picture manifested in his mind of Lily Potter, laying dead in the rubble of her home. He had stopped cold.

As he pulled on his pants and began fastening his many buttons, she whispered, "I'm sorry." His hands stilled as he turned.

"For what?" he asked incredulously.

"It's my fault. I _know_ it is. I did something wrong," she whimpered as her eyes filled with tears. "I-It's just, I-I've never, you know, done—"

"Shh!" he hissed, putting his fingers over her lips. "I want you to know that it is entirely my fault. I--" He paused, wondering what to say. "I'm just an old man. You were… You were… No one could have done better."

There. He had lied, but she wouldn't go on thinking it was her fault. For some reason, though, she covered her face and began to shudder. Now _what is it?_ He thought despairingly.

"I'm so stupid," she said, lifting her eyes to his. "You've always been mean to me, you hate my best friends, and I don't even really know you, but I was about to give up _years_ of restraint in one moment. I really _am_ glad we stopped." Tears still coursed from her eyes, but frustration was mounting in them as well. "I think you had better go, Professor."

"Good night, then, Miss Granger," he said, and turned to leave, composed and completely dressed with the staff in his hand, leaving Hermione Granger crying in the floor, rubbing her bruised breast, wearing only her undergarments and an unzipped skirt.

Clarence shook his head as he caught a glimpse of the girl on the floor while Severus Snape walked out of the room.

"What did you do to her?" Clarence cried, his handsome features contorting with rage.

"Nothing. And I mean that in the most humiliating way possible, so if you don't mind, I would appreciate it if you kept your… _righteous outrage_… to yourself." He uttered those two words through his teeth, sharp hisses bitterly enunciated into the surprised blue eyes of his bodyguard. Severus swooped and Clarence glided back down to the dungeons, where he swore he would stay until he died, and knew even as he swore that that would never happen. As he sprawled onto his bed, he could see his entire life before him like a map, perfectly unchanging. Only now he would have to deal with a depressed twat at breakfast every day. Clarence lay down **on his cot and wondered if Snape meant what he thought he did and what his girlfriend was doing at that moment.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Harry Potter waltzed into Snape's quarters at exactly four-fifty-eight post meridian, two minutes before the potions professor scuttled out to the library for a few hours of emotional reprieve from the stresses of the day after his _epic_ failure of manhood.. It irritated Snape that Potter had so perfectly arranged to arrive just as he arranged to depart. It was cruel.

"Evening, Snape."

Potter's words were terse and overly polite. Still, if this was how the game would be played, Severus couldn't say he minded. It would be nice to have an easy target for a few moments, something difficult to come by when one had no wand.

"What do you want?" he asked, clipping his words to a honed sharpness.

"I wanted to speak with you. About the final battle. About… _the memories_," Potter whispered indiscreetly, trying to keep the guard from overhearing. Clarence had the day off and was replaced by Reginald. Snape wondered where their parents had come up with such prissy names, and had pondered the psychology of wimpy-named bohunks.

"Mr. Potter, I have no desire to discuss the details of such things. I have no time. I am going to the library, and in case you didn't know, I don't have much time to idle about in hallways."

"I am not here to ridicule, Snape."

Snape paused and looked at the gangly, boyish man before him. "I do not wish to discuss the motive behind my previous actions. Those memories were private, and I have every desire that they should remain so."

"I know. I haven't told anyone beyond Ron and Hermione. And the Wizengamot, of course. But I do want to know more."

"More about what? Potter, to say anything more would be an embarrassment to both of us. Do you really want to know more? About how I humiliated myself and failed to woo the only woman I ever loved?! How I made terrible mistake after wretched mistake, trying to win a woman who was irreparably lost? No, Potter. I am going to the library."

"I came to talk to you. I went through my overseer at the Ministry, the Hogwarts guard, McGonagall, and your guard, and I am not leaving until we discuss it. I do not want to humiliate you!" Harry almost screamed as Snape tried to walk away. "I want to know more about my mother."

"Potter… She is too painful a topic. I can't… I can't keep reliving my times with Lily Evans. Suffice it to say she was a charming woman and you should be proud to have such a witch to call mother."

"That isn't enough, Snape!" Harry was heated, almost shouting as Snape walked out of the door of his quarters. The halls reverberated with the noise.

"What do you want to know, Potter? Do you want to know what it was like to watch her hair gleam in the sun? Do you want me to tell you how wonderful every word that left her mouth sounded, how beautiful she was when she laughed? How much it burned inside me when I saw her with your father? Because I won't tell you. I just want to be left alone to live out the little, pathetic shred of a life I had left, and right now that is entirely dedicated to going to the library. Good night, Potter." He spat out the last words like they were poison, turned on his heel, and walked away, leaving the Golden Boy, the saviour of the magical world, gaping sadly, awkwardly, after him.

When Snape reached the corridor that led to the library, he stopped and leaned against the wall. His leg burned with trails of fire, but the more intense pain had nothing to do with his leg. His face was hot and red, his eyes were smarting, and his hair was a wreck from the constant presence of his restless hands. Still, he limped down the hall, the staff in his hand shining as an ignored beacon of hope. At that moment, it was simply a walking stick.

The library was nearly empty when he entered quietly. The peace calmed the rapid pace of his heart and eased the squeezing band around his heart. He walked to the restricted section and perused the titles, lightly searching in hopes of finding a quality read. At least Minerva hadn't taken away his right to use the restricted books. Two or three students wandered the shelves nearby, whispered and giggling now and then. Madam Pince peeked in on him every now and then, looking nosy and flustered.

Finally Severus chose a particularly thick, dusty volume on dark magical theory, one he had read as a teen but revisited from time to time. He took a seat in the centre of the shelves, where a grouping of tables sat fairly uninhabited. One person sat at the farthest table, but all that could be seen was the reader's book cover, which was red and rather generic from a distance. His chair faced this person, but soon he was too absorbed in his book to notice anyone.

Just as he was reaching the end of his favourite chapter, the one about theories on death and resurrection, there was a cough intended to grab his attention. He looked up from his book and discovered at his eye level the slim waist of Hermione Granger.

"Can I help you?" he asked in such a way to imply that there was no way on earth he would come to her aid.

"Well, no, not really, Professor, but I do have a question. Why can't you just leave me alone?" Her voice raised in pitch at the end, making her words almost incoherent.

"This library is open to all Hogwarts staff and students, as well as half the wizarding world, Miss Granger, so I--"

"It is _Professor_ Granger, now, Professor."

"So… Sorry… Profess_or _Granger. I suggest you refrain from attacking me in a public setting. It is not as if I have done anything wrong that I should avoid you. If anything, it is _you_ who should be avoiding _me_."

"No, with all due respect, it was your fault this whole disaster happened. If it weren't for you, you with your pathetic limp and magical impotence, I would never have--"

"Let's avoid the topic of impotence, Granger. I find it nauseates me. And refresh my memory: who was it that fell upon whom last week in your quarters? Because I seem to recall that it was you that acted like a hormonal teenager.

Hermione looked shocked, like she had been slapped across the face, but the gaping look only lasted a moment before it turned to rage. Her words came out in an angry whisper.

"As I recall, both of us were equally responsible! You were not pushing me away, at least. And I have the bruise to prove it, _Snape_!"

Severus's face turned pale but for spots of high colour on the tops of his cheeks. "Fine, we are equally responsible. Now can we just forget the whole ordeal and continue our lives as professional co-workers and nothing more?"

"Fine. Good day, Professor."

When Hermione was gone, Snape eased back into his seat, prepared to return to his book. Before he even read the first word, however, his own thoughts began to tumble over each other. That so much could happen in the short time of an hour amazed him. First a confrontation with Potter, then with Hermione Granger. When would the lunacy end?

Still, try as he might, Severus could not return to his book. There was too much to think about. Of course those two smug little brats would cause him misery. They always had been a pair of thorns in his side, with Potter always making trouble and questioning his loyalties and Granger always being _too_ smart and looking like Lily.

Lily. That was the problem. They both cropped up such painful memories, though they did so in two very different ways. It was ridiculous. Lily Ev-- Potter should not be bothering him twenty years after her death. He should have let go of that childish crush years ago.

But then, he knew it was no crush. Such love was rarely found, such dogged admiration. Why couldn't she have seen that? Why didn't she understand that beneath his somewhat crusty exterior, he held a divine regard for her, brimming on idolatry? When she married, it was as if his goddess had been compromised, but he had still protected her in every way that he could, to the point of humbling himself and breaking vows to Voldemort, Dumbledore, and himself. She would never know the pains he took to preserve her safety.

Stupid Potter. With his cursed green eyes. Those eyes had a similar light in them, but it was less a look of intelligence and more a look of dynamic impatience. Some might call it charisma, but Snape called it personable ignorance. It was the eyes of Hermione Granger that truly embodied Lily Potter for him. They were brown instead of green, but there was intelligence and life and _spunk_ in those eyes. It almost hurt to look at them because he knew his own eyes were old and dead. It was like receiving a beautiful, perfect gift and having nothing to give back, not even a card.

Disgusted with himself for once again wallowing in ancient history, Snape got up and returned his book, then reported to the Great Hall for supper. He didn't eat much that night, mostly because Hermione came in late and was forced to sit beside him. After a few minutes of awkward silence, he got up and walked over to Minerva, who gave him a nod of acquiescence before he even asked.

In bed later that night, Snape found himself feeling disappointed. The day had gone poorly. His students all seemed incredibly dense, and every personal encounter of the day had ended badly. His dissatisfaction led to trouble sleeping. An hour ticked by as he tossed and turned.

His mind continually turned back to Potter and Granger, and thinking about Hermione led his thoughts to that Weasley creature. It would never fail to amaze him the mistakes young people made. After a month of being quietly broken up, the news had trickled into the newspapers and magazines of the wizarding world, creating a buzz in the school. Pictures of Ron with slinky girls and no ring led to wild speculations, most of them pointing to Hermione as the cause of the break-up. The poor girl had grown slightly rosier in the last week without the pressure of a crumbling relationship, but she had seemed very upset at dinner when the professors intentionally refrained from speaking about anything that could lead to the topic. Conversations stopped cold when the chattier teachers mentioned Ron or marriage or even Hermione.

It almost made him want to laugh, if he hadn't been there to hear her crying her eyes out over what she and her fiancé had been. That stupid redhead didn't deserve a girl like that, and if he was going to throw her away he deserved whatever sexually transmitted disease he got.

This thought disturbed Severus, so he sat up in bed, lit a lamp, and pulled a book from his side table. Reading didn't help much, though. His eyes lit upon the shimmering staff on the chair near his bed. When he tried to get up, however, he received an unpleasant shock.

_All right, then,_ he thought. _I'll have to think of some other way to get it._

This led to some rather awkward manoeuvring, but he found that as long as some part of him stayed beneath the blankets, he was fine. Unfortunately, just as his hand brushed the staff, Clarence walked in.

Clarence surveyed the scene before him with curiosity, then amusement.

"Sorry, Professor. I heard noise and I thought you might need help."

Snape's face reddened slightly. His legs were holding him up while still keeping contact with the bed, and he had obviously walked over to the chair using his hands, leaving him precariously perched between bed and chair. As Clarence spoke, Snape's arms began to shake under the abnormal work, and he collapsed, sending the staff into the air and his pyjama-clad body crashing to the floor. Fortunately, his left foot remained under the blankets. Unfortunately, the staff landed on his head.

"Ouch!" yelled the unceremoniously sprawled Potions Professor. "Bloody bugger, that hurt!"

"Do you need some help, Professor?"

"No, I do _not_, Clarence," Snape spat between gritted teeth. Clarence was then treated to the awkward attempts of Severus Snape to get back into bed without getting another shock. He paused for a moment to catch his breath.

"Are you sure, Professor?"

"Quite," Snape panted.

Somehow, though Clarence wasn't sure how, Snape managed to wriggle into bed unharmed and with his staff in hand. He arranged his blankets and sat up, attempting to look dignified despite his twisted shirt and tousled hair.

"Thank you for your concern, Clarence, but I am quite all right. You may leave, now. And do not enter my rooms again unless you fear for my life or are required to by the law."

Clarence walked out, mumbling about insane old bats and interrupted sleep.

Meanwhile, Snape returned his focus to the staff before him. It was an aesthetically pleasing piece, elegant and masculine. It amazed him that Hermione had matched his personality so well in its physical characteristics. He took the staff in his wand hand and waved it in what he hoped was a graceful manner, silently summoning book on his table. It wobbled a bit, but the book came to him with little hesitation. He transfigured the book into a pillow, then into a cat, and finally back into a book. That worked very well. He turned the book back into a cat and silently stunned it. The cat did not react at all, though it did brush against him affectionately. He tried the tickling charm. Nothing. Bat-bogey hex. Nada. He decided he would dare to try the Cruciatus. And still, there was no response in the car. The creature just sat, purring and blinking.

"What on earth…" Snape murmured under his breath. He had an inkling of what was wrong, but he hoped to Merlin that he was wrong. Somehow he had to go through Ollivander's letters again, but that meant seeing Hermione Granger once more.

Was it worth it? He debated. Perhaps, if only to irritate her.

It might even be fun.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Snape walked to Hermione's classroom the next evening and found her there, quietly sleeping on top of a stack of papers. He approached and discovered that her robe was open over a very frumpy, lacy nightgown that brushed the tops of her Asian slippers and wrapped around her thin, pale neck. He couldn't help but remember biting and kissing that fair neck. Ugh. Why couldn't he just forget the whole incident?

A quiet snore rumbled from the sleeping girl. Snape almost laughed, but he enjoyed watching her in her most vulnerable state more than waking her. He passed a few more moments, staring at her beautiful, freckled face, admiring the curve and colour of her lips, taking in the glimpse inside her mouth allowed by her slightly parted lips. He wanted to touch her smooth skin to see if it was as soft as it looked, but he refrained and touched her shoulder instead.

She woke with a grunt and took a deep yawn before looking up. Her glasses hung from one ear and her hair puffed out in one large tangle on the side she had lain her head. He would have laughed if she hadn't looked so sweet.

"Professor? What are you--" she yawned, "doing here?"

"I wanted to ask to see Ollivander's letters again. It seems there is a flaw in making a magical conductor that is not a wand, and I wanted to see if he mentioned anything about it."

"What flaw?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "Is something wrong with the staff?"

"Well, in a manner of speaking," Severus said. He proceeded to tell her what he had discovered in his bedroom the night before. She listened astutely, but seemed just as puzzled as he was.

"The letters say nothing about it. They only explain wands, Professor, not staffs or rings or any other more creative outlet we might stumble upon. There is no note about the lack of an ability to… to manipulate living things. I have never heard of such a thing. Some wands are better at certain things, like charms or transfiguration, but I have never in my life heard of a wand that couldn't do a certain thing when it was capable of doing everything else. But we did everything right. We made what is essentially a wand, only in a different form, and it is compatible to you, as shown by your experimenting…."

"What is it, then? Surely you have a theory." Snape leered, remembering her lighting-fast reaction when asked a question in class.

"I do, but I don't think you'll like it, Professor."

"Since when have you cared what I like, Granger?"

Hermione looked up into his eyes and raised an eyebrow.

"Professor, I think it might be you. You are the problem."

"What on earth are you talking about, Miss Granger?"

"Professor--"

"Professor Granger, then."

"I think it means you have some sort of mental or magical block. Have you ever studied muggle psychology, Professor?" Hermione asked, her face smooth and contemplative.

"Of course, but very little, and what does this have to do with it, anyway?" Snape growled, irritated and impatient.

"Muggles have come up with the most interesting theory about repression, unresolved feelings penned up in the mind that keep the brain from fully functioning."

"And you think I am repressed, Professor Granger?"

"Well, Professor Snape, if those memories you gave Harry are any indication, then yes, I do."

"This is ridiculous! The most preposterous thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth. What on earth makes you think that Lily Potter has anything to do with the failure of _your_ useless stick?" Snape shouted.

"Sir, calm down. It is simple to explain if you would just--"

"I don't want it explained, Miss Granger! I will not be subject to your unprofessional psychoanalysis in an attempt to bring up old and painful memories! Good night, Miss Granger!" With that, Severus Snape limped out of her classroom to his own rooms, leaving Hermione Granger feeling alone and very small.

It was insensible that she should be so hurt by a grown man yelling like some sort of toddler, throwing a massive hissy fit in the middle of her inner sanctum. It was immature of him, but it proved her right to some extent. He had shown that he had curled around his Lily-induced pain like a wounded dog. She was also a bit concerned about his memories from the war. What on earth had that man gone through behind the scenes? She had a feeling that he was keeping it all closed up when it should be let out.

Still, she wondered if it did any good. He would probably avoid her like the plague now, even with his somewhat incapacitated staff. It probably wouldn't bother him anyway. If he cursed someone he would be in Azkaban so quickly her head would spin. In a way it was good that he couldn't perform any contact spells. It would keep him out of trouble. Nevertheless, it bothered her that anything she had created was less than perfect. Convincing herself that his staff not working had nothing to do with her, she stacked her papers neatly, shuffled to her rooms, and curled up in bed to finish what she had started before Snape disturbed her.

- - - -

Granger had given him a lot to think about. Perhaps he was, as she had implied, a little off in the psyche. Certainly he had shoved Lily away from his thoughts on several occasions, but that didn't mean anything. She was not the reason for the incompetence of the staff.

At least, he didn't think so.

Still, what if she had something? What could be blocking him? Maybe it was lack of practice. He decided to experiment some more.

The next day, Snape tried both spoken and silent curses out on Clarence when he wasn't looking. Nothing happened. Once, when he tried some harmless spell that made the receiver's eyebrows grow extremely thick, a few sparks flew out of the end, but nothing else even split a single perfect, blonde hair.

When Snape gave up and tried to appreciate being able to use magic at all, he began to notice Potter had been around more frequently in the last week or two. It seemed he was appearing to support Hermione. He sat with her at meals and could be seen walking with her on the grounds. Snape felt a pang of jealousy, but he chose to ignore it. Instead he focused on his classes and taking as many chances to make petty insults about Potter that he could. This, at least, was satisfying when everything else seemed to be going wrong in his life.

A week or so after the incident in Hermione's classroom, McGonagall sent him a paper airplane informing him that Professor Granger no longer required his services. What she did not know that, since those services were not forced upon him by magic (upon Hermione's request, reinforced by the excuse that he wouldn't be needed on a strict schedule) he had not gone since last week.

This news was unwelcome, but he tried to convince himself that it didn't bother him in the least. He thought about how bossy she was, what a know-it-all she had always been, and how she had attempted to play psychologist with him. Still, he kept thinking of yellow satin and a white, thin neck, a bruised breast and unbuttoned skirt. But he continued on with his limited life, going to the library, eating three meals every day, sleeping too long on semi-filthy sheets, and trying to forget that he had ever known Hermione Jane Granger.

(A/N: It is short. But the next is soon to be up! Chapter eight is gonna be good! Read and review, pleeeeeaaase! I know you are reading my story, and I am so glad, but I really want to know what you think! Really!)


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

**Forgetting someone exists is terribly difficult when that someone works in the same haunted castle as you do. It is also difficult when that someone is always late and you always have empty seats beside you because you are so disliked by your peers. Additionally, it was made even more Herculean a task when the person you are trying to forget speaks to you on a regular basis, trying to pry information you have no intention of giving.**

**Snape gave it up as a lost cause. He decided to be cold rather than ignore her. This methodology worked better. She asked him questions, and he acknowledged her, but he also answered with stinging, snide remarks that would frequently shut her up if she didn't end up leaving in a huff. It was much more satisfying.**

**Nonetheless, speaking to her reminded him of so many painful things, and he tried to avoid her when at all possible. It escalated to a searing agony when Potter visited, which was so frequent that Snape began to envy the prisoners of Azkaban, for surely he was the more miserable of the two groups. Hermione always observed his pained expressions with interest, and it bothered him that she was taking psychological gleanings from his distress.**

**She had not even really been aware that he was trying to ignore her. She continued to talk to him as usual, and when he began to respond, it surprised her a bit. These responses were always witty and biting, and she took them as a very troubled mind striking out in defence. His reluctance only encouraged her. Still, she knew there was a faster way, and she began looking into it zealously. He continued to strike out, and she continued to probe, both with less-than-satisfying results.**

**The stalemate could not last, however. Snape was several hours short in his required service to the school, and Hermione was beginning to feel frustrated by his coldness toward her. She had decided the time for a confrontation was ripe, so she arranged with Minerva for Professor Severus Snape to enter her office at exactly six p.m. Friday evening to "assist in heavy labour." Hermione had told Minerva that to prevent questioning. Where Snape-baiting was concerned, Minerva McGonagall was all in.**

**When Snape was told this, his face fell. He knew she had done it on purpose, specifically retained his services for four hours as a means of torturing him. It was going to be terrible, but he had no choice. Why hadn't they just given him the Kiss and finished it?**

**Friday was quiz day in Potions. Snape held high-pressure, excruciatingly difficult tests over the material they studied in the week, leading some students to crack under the pressure and others to nearly fail his class. Very few ever did well on his quizzes, and when he did his planning for the next quiz day, Snape was feeling particularly cruel. He decided to give a pop quiz on a potion from two weeks ago, one they had only brushed over lightly due to its insignificance in general. It was particularly diabolical of him, but he revelled in the shocked faces of his students, smirked as some of the brightest in his classes broke down in tears trying to remember the obscure ingredients and minutely detailed instructions.**

**Well, he enjoyed it until Minerva McGonagall swooped into the room. Her normally tight and excruciatingly neat bun was off centre and frazzled, her cloak was askew, and her shoulder was dark with dampness.**

"**Students, class is dismissed. Whatever you have done today will not be counted toward your final grade. Tell your friends," McGonagall nearly shouted. The students left, some with relieved tears streaming down their faces.**

"**Minerva, you cannot dictate how I grade my students, and you cannot--" Snape began.**

"**Do not **_**dare**_** to tell me what I can and cannot do, Severus! You have crossed the line this time! Clementine Welles just came into my office, crying her eyes out. The most brilliant witch to come through this school in years, and you put her in tears! Students have been sending in complaints, writing home with complaints and then having their parents complain to me, and crying in the corridor about this quiz. It is in your rules, Severus, that you will not be a tyrannical… a tyrannical… well, a tyrannical **_**bastard**_**, if I have to put a word on it. Your classes have been called off for the week. In that time you will come up with lesson plans with the assistance of Miss Granger, the only teacher who would even **_**think **_**of spending any time with such a disgusting specimen as yourself. Until you have lesson plans for the rest of the year, you are confined to quarters. Except, of course, tonight when you go to help Hermione, and only because I owe her for accepting the task."**

"**Minerva, this is outrageous! It is a quiz, not the end of the world. It only accounts for five percent of their grade! There is no reason to react so drastically. Everyone has blown the whole thing out of proportion, and do you know why? Because I was on Voldemort's side. Because I gave in to Dumbledore's request for a Kevorkian death. All of this is a direct result of--"**

"**I do not want to hear your conspiracy theories, Severus. All I require is your obedience, and that is beyond your control. Good night, Professor." Without even waiting for a response, Minerva billowed out of the room, her frizzy head held high over her rumpled robes.**

**Snape sank onto his stool in the front of the room. The day had quickly degenerated from the pinnacle of his teaching career to the most tortuous day of his life. Brilliant.**

**That evening Snape limped up to the Muggle Studies wing and arrived twenty minutes early, expecting Miss Granger to be involved in some menial teaching task, or rather, asleep on top of some menial teaching task. He was actually looking forward to seeing whatever horribly embarrassing position she had put herself in this time.**

**Much to his disappointment, when he entered Granger was sitting behind her desk, glasses perched at the end of her delicate nose, reading a paper. She had a quill in her right hand, perched over a bottle of red ink, anticipating a mistake. An exceptionally large mug of tea sat near her, and she looked perfectly comfortable and prepared for his coming. When he shut the door she looked up.**

"**Hello, Professor," she said in a soft and polite tone. "Do have a seat. I just want to finish up this one paper before we begin."**

"**Begin what, Professor?" Snape said, mocking her gentle inflection.**

"**The heavy labour, sir," she answered, her eyes smiling as she returned to the paper before her. Snape decided it would be best to just wait and see, rather than question her further, so he eased into the leather chair and stared at Hermione in hopes of making her uncomfortable as she graded.**

**She was wearing a muggle dress, which was odd, since muggle clothes were so rare in Hogwarts. It was very feminine and soft-looking, and the dark colour made her skin look exceptionally pale and soft. Her hair was braided neatly, but a day of wear had loosened some curls around her face and neck. He wanted to tuck them back in for her.**

**Quickly Severus averted his eyes, turning his mind to his surroundings. There was nothing interesting about the office, other than its massive bookshelves well stocked with histories, spell books, potion manuals, and other non-fiction, but he had seen her personal shelves, and knew that they were in no way so serious. They were chock-full of silly muggle novels, a few of them with scandalously clad lovers on the covers. Some were fantastical fictions, others were just plain odd, but the majority of them were romantic.**

**He remembered the time when she had left him alone in her rooms to retrieve something from her classroom, leaving him to his own devices for several minutes. Naturally he was gravitated to her bookshelves, and he had discovered countless paperbacks whose titles he had never heard of. Reading the blurbs on the back, he had discovered a recurring theme of two people, completely at odds with one another, finding passion and romance due to extenuating circumstance.**

**Snape began to chuckle at the memory, but Hermione's head snapped up, causing him to abruptly stop. She looked at him for a moment with a deeply puzzled look and then returned to the paper. After that Snape simply stared at his hands while she finished.**

"**I'm done, Professor. Now, to work." Hermione rose from her chair and began walking around the room, casting spells that lit incense and candles all around the room until it began to resemble the divination classroom.**

"**What on earth are you doing?"**

"**Setting the proper tone. According to Trelawney incense opens the subconscious. Not that she knows anything, but it can't hurt. I like the way it smells, anyway."**

"**You honestly dragged me here so you could try to open my subconscious?"**

"**Oh, Severus, I am not going to **_**try**_**. I succeed at anything I set my mind to do. Surely you must have noticed by now? And I have been researching magic of the mind. We are going to make a lot of progress in the next week." She pulled her curtains and locked the door.**

"**Shall we begin?"**

**- - - -**

**The sessions had started with her conjuring up a sofa and taking a seat in her own desk chair, which she pulled around to keep the desk from separating them. Two tea cups appeared on the table nearby, and Hermione hadn't said a word for a while, letting Severus get slightly antsy.**

"**So, Professor, to make this easier I would like to put you under the influence of a calming spell. Also, perhaps some Veritaserum to keep your tongue loose. There is no reason for you to refrain from giving me your total confidence. The war is over, after all."**

"**I refuse to be put under the influence of who-knows-how-many potions and spells in order to make this extremely ridiculous affair easier on you."**

"**Well, then, Professor, perhaps I should tell Minerva you are being uncooperative to my disciplinary efforts and we need another week…"**

"**That is not necessary, Miss Granger. I will cooperate. To an extent."**

"**Excellent!" Hermione chirped, a pen and quill flying into her waiting hands as a huge grin seeped onto her pale face. "I hope you don't mind if I jot a few notes… Just to keep the facts and details straight, you understand."**

"**I don't think my opinion will make a difference at this point," Snape remarked snidely.**

"**You are absolutely right. So where shall we start? Childhood would be best, I think, don't you?"**

"**It was unpleasant. Next topic, please."**

**Hermione clucked and took a dignified sip of her tea.**

"**At this rate we will get nowhere. Do you want to solve your problems with magic or not?"**

"**Fine, Miss Granger. Where would you like me to start? Childhood is a rather broad subject. Perhaps you want me to scientifically narrow it into categories for ease in note-taking."**

"**No need to get cheeky, Severus. Why don't we start with your mother, Eileen Prince?"**

**Snape winced slightly, but in a slow, even voice, he began to tell Hermione Granger about his mother.**

**- - -**

**Back in Hermione's office the desk was a wreck. Above the blend of papers, ink spots, books, and incense ash, Hermione Granger rifled through papers despite her exhaustion. Her attempts to open Snape's mind were successful to a point that she didn't know how to organize all the information she had received. **

**Tying Severus Snape down with a requisite meeting, a lie, had seemed like a terrible idea at first. In fact, it had come out as a joke between her and Harry. They had been complaining about Snape over a bottle of wine, which was nearly empty by the time the topic came began by mentioning his confrontation with Snape on the way to the library a few weeks ago. He related to her Snape's coldness and blatant refusal to talk about Lily. Then Harry started to cry because he was drunk and missed his mother, and Hermione had comforted him to the best of her very limited ability by patting him on the back and murmuring about what a jerk Snape was, how he was a sick, sick man who needed help but refused to accept any. Then she began to the end they both ended up weeping and laughing about the clever torture methods their inebriated minds dredged up, which always happened when they got drunk together. There was something about handcuffs, wasps, and honey, as well as paying for an ugly prostitute to relentlessly attempt to seduce him. That one got a good ten minutes of expansion and hysterics. **

**Finally Hermione confessed her desire to sit him down and pick through his memories with a fine-tooth comb. Harry had snorted at the idea, but then he told her about his lessons in legilimency in sixth year, and how he had seen one of Snape's memories. He went into further detail, and Hermione was fascinated. No wonder Snape had trouble performing spells. He was so bogged down with emotional baggage that it was amazing he could find the strength to wake up every was the one who said she should lock him in her office and give him Veritaserum. They had laughed and changed their target to Trelawney, but the idea had stuck in Hermione's mind when she woke up to a massive hangover. So she had done it. She had locked her old teacher in her office, put him under the subtle influence of a few mild relaxation spells, and loosened his tongue just a smidge with another spell, making once-upon-a-time carefully guarded Severus Snape a virtually open book.**

**Still, it amazed her that he had been so unprepared. The fact that he had so readily opened up indicated… trust… but that surely couldn't be. After the whole hot-and-heavy make out session, he had seemed nothing if not hostile toward her, and she happened to know from personal and second-hand experience that Severus Snape trusted no one.**

**She shook the idea of trust out of her head and continued to rifle through her notes. Maybe he had just been tired, or worn down from giving his students complexes all day. She began to sort through her notes and place them in a neatly labelled binder that read "Severus Snape" in block letters.**

**That binder was full of his thoughts and memories. It blew her away that a person could have such an eventful and **_**tragic**_** life. From his birth until the present he had been hit by wretched miseries. He was an unwanted child in an abusive home who had then grown up into a misfit, a brilliant student despised by his peers and even most of his teachers, and then a confused man using his mental capacities for the wrong side.**

**Still, she had not lost sight of her mission. Rome was not built in a day, and Severus Snape's troubled mind could not be unwoven in a week. It might take years to truly get him onto a normal mental track, but she simply wanted to unravel his tightly knotted mind enough that he could do the rest on his own, and maybe when he got everything figured out, he could begin to perform spells on living creatures once more.**

**It was going to be a long week.**

**Still, as she was cleaning up she happily remembered that Harry would be bringing the booze tonight and the two of them would have a different kind of therapy. It was funny, but since Ginny had gone to spend some time with Charlie on a sort of internship, the two friends had gotten closer. It was fun, having Harry back with her and no Ron to distract him and knock off the dynamic.**

**As she retreated to her own rooms, she began to make a mental checklist of her needs for the night. Her quarters were equipped with muggle technology that ran on magical power, including a refrigerator, microwave, stove, etc., so she decided to make something to go with the large amount of alcohol they would likely consume.**

**Just as she popped a frozen pizza in the oven, Harry walked into the room. She greeted him happily and glided over to give her best friend a hug.**

"**Wow," Harry said, putting the large bag on her kitchen counter. "You had a good day, huh? Pizza **_**and**_** a hug."**

"**I had some luck with Professor Snape today. That's all. His own devilish plans to torture innocent students blew up in his face to my advantage."**

"**Sounds like a lovely story. I would love to hear it while slightly more under the influence." Harry pulled out some butterbeer and firewhiskey.**

"**What a good friend you are," Hermione said with a smile, pulling out a pair of tumblers.**

**A half hour of slow, sensual imbibing later, Hermione was a bit beyond tipsy, and Harry was cross-eyed drunk.**

"**I mish her, 'Mione!" he lamented. Harry was frequently a sad drunk.**

"**I know, baby, I know," she said, patting his wild hair and handing him a slice of warm pizza.**

"**She was always so nice… Great kisser. Why did she have to go to **_**Romania**_** for a whole year?"**

"**She just did, Harry. She'll be back for Christmas. Don't worry about Ginny. She wouldn't want you to be sad about her."**

"**I know. But I am. I am **_**so**_** sad. **_**I am so sad**_**, 'Mione. It hurts. Why do I miss her so much? We're not even that serious," Harry moaned, still slurring slightly and now chewing obscenely. A quarter of the bottle of firewhiskey was gone, and she had only had about five ounces of it.**

"**I think maybe you like her more than you want to say, and now that she's gone… What do they say? Absence makes the heart grow fonder."**

"**That's what they say. Cheers!" He lifted up a glass so full that it sloshed and quaffed the entire thing in a few gulps.**

"**Slow down, Harry!" Hermione cried, digging in her fridge for dip to go with the crisps she had found.**

"**But I wanna get drunk! That was the whole idea of coming over! To drown my sorrows…"**

"**Are you sure this is about Ginny, Harry?"**

"**Yes!" he nearly yelled. "But no. I think I love her, 'Mione, but that's fine. No, it's great. But I just… I don't know. I forgot."**

"**Why are you so sad if everything is so wonderful with Ginny?"**

"**Because, 'Mione. I just… I just… I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Life has no meaning anymore, not without Voldemort and the Dark Side to fight all the time. Everything is so **_**good**_** now," Harry slurred with disgust.**

"**But Harry, that's a good thing. That's what we fought for two years ago."**

"**But peace isn't good for me, Hermione! I don't know what to do. Why should I hone my skills if I'm not going to fight? Why should I even be an Auror? I am training all this time to fight petty thieves and smugglers, not real threats. I'll be the big, shiny face of the Ministry. The big, shiny, **_**useless**_** face."**

"**That isn't true at all. Your face is not shiny. In fact, your skin is rather dry." Hermione snorted at her own terrible joke. "But really, Harry, peace can be good, too. And every petty thief and smuggler you take down could have been the next Dark Lord. Remember that he just started small, stealing little things and doing little things to hurt people. You could save some other poor witch or wizard the trouble of defeating the next Dark Lord. You aren't useless at all."**

"**I don't like doing little things. I want something big. An adventure."**

"**Then go to Romania and train dragons," Hermione suggested lightly, pouring out another tumbler of whiskey.**

"**I tried. Ginny said if I did she would break up with me and send me back home. She said I needed to get my own life before we brought ours together."**

**Hermione started chuckling lightly.**

"**Oh, Harry, you've got it bad."**

"**I know."**

**The night continued in much the same way, with the two friends getting plastered and sharing stories about their week. Harry spiralled down the evening as he always did, in a cloud of alcohol-induced self-pity. **

"**I have no mum, no dad, no friends--"**

"**What am I, then?"**

"**--No life. I live for Auror training, which is nothing like I had hoped it would be. And there is no point to what I do."**

**Hermione got aggravated at this point.**

"**Harry, you have a whole troupe of people that love you, an entire country full of witches and wizards that admire you, and a beautiful, talented girlfriend. What in Merlin's name are you complaining about?"**

**At this point, Harry burst into tears.**

"**You're right!" he blubbered. "I am an ungrateful sod. You might as well call me Snape, that's how pathetic I am."**

"**Severus Snape is not pathetic, Harry. He is just extremely troubled. And you need to get control of yourself. You're acting more like Cho Chang during fifth year than anyone else."**

**Harry promptly passed out at this point.**

**Hermione was not anywhere near as drunk as he was, so she levitated him to the sofa, tucked him in, removed his shoes and glasses, and went to her own bed, shaking her head at her own pathetic state. She wondered when she and Harry would stop being apathetic twenty-somethings and start their lives for real. She wondered if she would always teach at this school. She wondered what Severus Snape was doing at that very moment, and for once she didn't stop herself. She could envision him sleeping. It was a nice thing to think about. She put herself to bed and fell asleep with the strong half-awake dream of Severus Snape wrapping his arm around her as she nuzzled into his chest. It was a lovely dream.**

**- - -**

**The next morning Snape saw the pair stumble in, blinking and wincing at light and loud noises. The fact that they came in together bothered him most, though. He tried to tell himself that it didn't, but it was undeniable that it really did.**

**Granger plopped down and downed a goblet of water post haste, and Potter merely groaned a bit over his plate.**

"**We need to stop doing this, 'Mione. It just hurts in the morning," Potter muttered into a cup of tea.**

"**But it felt so good at the time," she whined.**

"**Well, next time we should slow down. Doing it so face just leaves me a passed out mess with carpet burns."**

"**How did you get carpet burns?"**

"**I would rather not say in present company. It's rather embarrassing."**

**Severus had just listened in astonishment until he could take it no more. An angry, roaring beast had arisen in him, and he wanted to rip off Potter's face. Instead, he sneered at his bacon, trying not to listen while also managing to hear every word they said.**

"**I think we would do better if you brought less… you know," Hermione said, throwing a meaningful glance at Snape to show that she didn't want to say aloud.**

"**Maybe. That would keep us from doing it, certainly. But what can we do instead?" Harry asked, his brilliant green eyes flickering up from his plate to Hermione's face.**

"**I don't know. Play a board game? But it's not nearly as pleasurable."**

**At that, Severus Snape made a noise of disgust and rose from the table. Hermione and Harry stared, slightly baffled.**

"**Do you thing he's a prohibitionist?" Hermione asked, staring at his retreating form.**

"**I dunno," Harry answered with a shrug, and feeling slightly more cheerful once the black mood of Snape was gone, he dug into a plate of scrambled eggs.**


End file.
